


A Craven Sort

by Attaining



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: The Ironborn dock in Northern Dorne after losing to Euron. The men go looking for pleasure in a brothel; Theon goes looking for punishment.Aka some unusual sex therapy courtesy of a Dorne prostitute with mentions of Theon/Robb and non-consensual Ramsay/Theon.TW: physical, sexual, emotional abuse; trauma related disassociation; and porn.





	A Craven Sort

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have too much student debt to own anything, and I work in the non profit world, so I don't own any existing book or TV series. 
> 
> TV Verse, some book references. I haven't written fic in maybe 10 years, but I can't believe what happens in much of GoT canon anyway, so I figured it's a good place to start. :) I don't know if enjoy is the right word, but I hope it treats you well. Cheers!

"I saw you watching me from across the room, hoping others wouldn't notice. You're not from Dorne, are you?" the boy, not older than Theon when he rode south with Robb, asked with a slow drawl. His skin was darker, but the watery eyes, dirt and ice, they were right.

Theon shook his head, eyes flicking back and forth across the room. "No."

"Don't worry, handsome, we're alone. Those pirates you came in with won't see you here." He was lighting candles and incense now. Pink and blue silk draped across his chest, and short black breeches hung low on his hips. Theon didn't know his name.

The Ironborn weren't pirates, not in the sense he meant, but Theon couldn't think or speak well enough to correct him. Panic started to well in his chest and his fists opened and closed without direction. He shouldn't be here.

"In Dorne, we do not worry about such things. Pleasure is meant to be found everywhere."

"I... I don't want pleasure," Theon murmured, staring at the ground. How did he get here?

The ship had docked. The men needed respite after so many dead. His uncle had taken Yara. It blurred by in speeding images. One moment he was fighting one of Euron's men. _"Little Theon!"_ An axe against his sister's throat. A tongue in the hand of an Ironborn. Blood. Skin. Fire. The world didn't feel real, like a dream. It seemed like someone else was dropping his sword and swinging him over the side of the ship. He was so cold.

Theon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe. He was shaking and his heart sounded in his ears louder than anything. He left her. He left her to him. He's going to punish her. He's going to hurt her.

"Then why did you come to a brothel, milord?"

The words cut through his racing thoughts. That wasn't why he was here. He remembered why he came. Theon felt sick, depraved.  "I'm... I'm no Lord."

The Dornish boy grinned but nodded his assent. Slowly he removed the silk and dropped the long wrap to the floor. He approached Theon with a more interested look. He was muscled, long and lean, kissed by the southern sun. "Are you sure it is not pleasure you want? Many men find joy in unusual ways. Are you an unusual man?"

_I'm no man at all_ , he thought, trying his best not to run from the room before he got what he needed. The Dornish boy brushed his fingertips along Theon's neck, playing with the fine hairs there. Theon flinched.

 "I want..." Theon licked his lips, closing his eyes. "Hurt me."

 "Ah, I see. You came to be punished."

 He whimpered but nodded his head. He betrayed Yara again. He ran when she needed him. He was a coward. He wanted to be hurt for his stupidity, the way his master hurt him, but his master wasn't here. But with this boy, if he pretended, he could be back where he belonged instead of walking with free men. He wanted to forget Theon Greyjoy and all his follies.

 The Dornish boy looked him up and down, assessing him. He grabbed Theon's doublet and began to roughly pull it apart, tearing him out of it. Theon let him. He felt his undershirt tear and rip and his breath hitched. He would see, see what was underneath. His ugly, scarred flesh. Theon caught the boy looking over his chest, running fingers over the raised marks. Only Ramsay had touched him like this in years. He felt sick and wondered if he would ever know desire again.

 The boy traced the raised cross on his shoulder. "You were a slave. This is how your master marked you."

 The words were not questions, but fact. Theon said nothing. A slave? He hadn't thought of it that way, even after visiting the famous slave cities that the queen liberated. He had been Ramsay's...  Prisoner. Pet. Servant. Bedwarmer. Prey. Anything and nothing. But he deserved his punishments. "The Master was kind. He only hurt me when I had done wrong."

 The Dornish boy looked at him with pity and understanding. Maybe he wasn't from Dorne either, from the tattoos. He was marked. "Then you've done something wrong."

 Theon stared at the floor in shame and nodded. His head twitched, odd noises coming from his chest and his shoulders slouched.

 "And what does your master name you?"

 "Reek. My name is Reek."

 "Who am I?"

 "Ramsay... Lord Ramsay."

 "How did you wrong me?"

 "I... I ran away and forgot my name. He's going to hurt her."

 “And what is your punishment to be?”

 “...Whatever m’lord desires.”

 Theon peered cautiously up to see what the Dornish boy was doing. Theon was good at pretending. The Master gave him practice. The boy had withdrawn a leather whip from a chest of drawers, but it wasn't like the kind that marked his back. It was shorter and with many straps. The boy let the tendrils slide over his shoulders and Theon shivered. "If you wish to stop your punishment, you'll call 'Volantis.' Do you understand?"

He didn't really. Ramsay didn't give him a say in stopping, but it was easy enough to follow so he said, "Yes."

“Even if you beg me to stop, say no, and cry, I won’t stop unless you call to Volantis. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Theon cried out as the leather snapped against his back.  "Yes, Master."

This was familiar. This was easier. Pain until he served his master right. Punished for being the vile creature he was. He deserved this, to be beaten and fucked by a whore in a Dornish port. He was of a craven sort.

"Take off your breeches."

Despite himself, tears welled in his eyes. "I can't... I... I can't. I'm not... There's nothing..."

The sting of the whip hit him again and he whined and shook. But Theon pulled at the laces of his pants, removing his boots and pulling them from his legs. He tried to cover himself, but the whip hit his belly this time.

To his great relief, the Dornish boy only glanced at his scarred flesh before moving on, eyes roving up and down his broken body. Theon's legs were as scarred as his arms and his left foot was twisted and missing several toes.

"Get on your knees."

Theon peered into those pale eyes as long as his fear would let him before he did as he was told. This was familiar, too. The Master told Myranda to train him to be as good with his mouth as any Northern whore. She instructed him over and over and made him practice on half the soldiers in the Dreadfort until he learned to be careful of his broken teeth, never to bite, and not to choke unless The Master wanted it that way. Only then was he placed before his lord and Myranda was so proud of her trained dog, just like her father.

When the Dornish boy appeared in front of him, Theon automatically reached to undo the single tie that held the loose breeches up. His hands were slapped away and a rough hand pulled his hair hard. Theon groaned. 

"Beg me."

Theon stared wide eyed up at the boy. A red blush he didn't think he could still feel crept across his cheeks. Years ago, it would have been him saying those words and a woman on her knees. But that person didn't exist anymore. "Please... Please let me, m'lord. Let me serve you."

 The boy leaned over and the leather struck Theon again. He wondered what kind of marks it would leave. "Master, I'll please you well. Let me be your Reek. I'll do anything."

 Suddenly Theon was sobbing, fat tears falling and his chest heaving. The shame came in high waves, like the Drowned God came to shore to claim him. The boy released him.

 “But you ran away.”

 He fell to the floor to steady himself as he tried to stop his sobs. “I’m sorry, I know, and I’m sorry. I was so scared. It was a trick. He was going to kill her if I tried and then kill me, too. I left her to save myself.”

 “Does ‘she’ still live?”

 Theon slowed his breathing, deep breaths, slow breaths. He nodded weakly, trying to focus on the grooves and rises of the stone floor. “He has her. He’ll hurt her.”

 “So what will you do?”

 “I... I don’t know. What can I do?” Reek, Reek it rhymes with meek. A worthless creature, lower than anything. If he has a choice, he chooses wrong. That’s why he came here, looking for someone to tell him what to do, use him the way his master did and punish him for thinking he could be a man again. He shouldn’t have left his master, shouldn’t have forgotten his place.

 There was another strike and a stinging pain in his shoulder, harder than last time.

 “I asked you a question.”

 Theon chanced a glance up at those eyes. For a moment he thought he really did see Ramsay looking down at him. His stomach turned. He had to think, be smarter. “Ask... ask the queen. Ask the queen to help me find her. Help me free her.”

 He was too weak to free her alone, but Daenerys was strong. She had dragons. Even a kraken might fear a dragon. He nodded again. It might work. Theon jumped when the leather tickled his shoulders and lightly trailed down his back. His cheeks felt red again.

 “Get on the bed.”

 Hesitantly, he stood and sat on the silks that covered the feather bed. So different from the North, where furs were needed. He couldn’t think of what Islanders slept under right then. The boy pushed him back against the cool silks and pulled his legs up, placing him fully on top of the blankets. A sudden weight was on top of him and Theon noticed immediately that the boy was now naked, his prick half hard and pressing against Theon’s stomach as the boy leaned over to kiss him. His lips were soft and full, not at all like Ramsay, who came at him biting and probing his mouth for any wound or broken tooth to prod. If this were really his master, he would already be on his knees bleeding and crying. But this boy licked his ear gently as he ran his hands over Theon’s chest, lightly trailing every scar.

 He blinked away wetness in his eyes, unsure of what to do. As the boy’s hips pressed and moved against his scar ...there, he felt an old heat start to pool, a spot tingling where his cock used to be. _A phantom itch?_ Theon gasped and cried, his mangled hand on the boy’s shoulder. “D-don’t, please.”

 He felt himself pulling away from the too many sensations his body was experiencing. This wasn’t right, he wasn’t supposed to like this tonight. But a tanned hand patted his face and he heard the boy click his tongue, “Ah, ah, stay here. I didn’t give you permission to go and you don’t give orders here. Do you understand?”

 Theon licked his lips, breath quickening. An old memory stirred, of Robb hovering over him, both of them drunk and wrestling, rutting against each other and sloppy, hungry kisses as they groped at each other’s pricks. And when the boy kissed him again, he thought of Ros and how he wished she would fuck him without asking for silver. “Good boy,” the Dorne said. “You’re doing good tonight.”

 Theon moaned, face burning, his hands running down those narrow hips and thighs. But he stopped as he thought of Myranda rocking on top of him before he—

 A hand was on his jaw and he was slapped. “Stay here. Hand me that bottle.”

 Theon’s head danced with images but the words eventually reached him. A tall green bottle with a slender neck sat on the table within reach. He grabbed it with his right hand, forgetting to hide his missing finger. The boy said nothing and took the bottle, pouring what Theon realized was oil into his hands. The Dornish boy took his member into his palm and began to stroke himself, head lulled back in pleasure. Ramsay was short and thick, but this boy was longer, thinner. This wasn’t what he intended but his master said to stay. Theon stared mouth open before turning his head away.

 He couldn’t stand to watch men stroke themselves. Not that Theon had done much watching in the past, aside from the times he caught Jon or Robb in their chambers. Or the time he and Robb had rubbed themselves down next to the hot springs in the godswood after training. Robb would always flush, tongue peeking out over his bottom lip. But in the Dreadfort... Theon squeezed his legs together, feeling uncomfortable and exposed.

 “Turn over. There’s a good boy,” a voice above him whispered as he slapped Theon’s ass. He gasped. That was familiar, but Ramsay preferred a belt. Theon got to his hands and knees, expecting pain to follow. Instead, he let out a low whine as careful fingers explored his ass, pressing in slicked with oil. He shuddered when a finger entered him, stretching him slowly. This wasn’t anything like his master. But Theon had wished many times his master would take him slowly, let him catch his breath. Theon’s comfort only mattered if The Master was showing off what a whore his Reek had become to Myranda or his favored men. Then Ramsay would use his fingers with care, dripping with oil, until he found a spot that made Reek gasp and shudder, in pleasure and not pain. Then they would laugh.

 Theon yelled out when suddenly he felt that one finger had become several. The boy growled in his ear, even though his voice was calm, “I told you to stay here. Disobey me again and you’ll regret it.”

 “Yes, yes, Master,” Theon panted. And he was panting, as the fingers had found a steady rhythm, pushing in and out, curled and searching. Wet lips found his neck and Theon leaned his head to the side for more. Gods. Beneath the craven feeling that he was a disgusting creature, he felt warm and as the boy rocked against him he felt pleasure beginning to coil. A sudden empty feeling hit him as the boy retracted his fingers and gave his ass another whack, but it was soon replaced by a stinging pain and fullness as his cock pushed in slowly. Oil drizzled in long strings from the bottle, dripping down his back, between his cheeks and coating his full entrance. The boy moved achingly slow and Theon let his eyes close, leaning back against the Dorne. It wasn’t long before his whole body jerked back and forth, his head hitting the headboard. The boy grabbed him by his hair as he pushed deeper into Theon, rocking his hips. Theon clutched the headboard, one hand splayed against the wall as the boy pounded into him from behind. Theon cried out, sweat dripping from his brow. The boy worked him, hungrily nipping at his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

 “Don’t stop, please,” he begged. Theon bucked and rocked trying to meet his pace, trying to go deeper. The moans and whines he heard must’ve been his but he hadn’t had that sort of grunting lust since before “turncloak” had been added to his name. The boy’s strokes were long and deep and the place inside him that reminded him of his missing cock inside a warm cunny sounded with every slap of their bodies meeting. Theon’s eyes snapped open as nimble fingers twisted his only nipple and the boy purred in his ear, “What a good boy you are tonight. So well behaved. I’m going to come inside your tight ass, would you like that?”

 Theon nodded fiercely, unable to form words. Remember to breathe.

 “Say it.” Two quick slaps on his cheeks and Theon moaned loudly. He never thought he would enjoy this again. He never even thought about it anymore. As the boy’s hands pulled his hips back faster and harder, Theon gave in to his pace. _Are you a woman?_ If this is how women felt during a good fuck then he didn’t care as long as he kept hitting that spot. He bit his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he allowed himself to be fully taken. He saw so many faces between the thrusts, Ros, Ramsay, Robb, even Jon Snow.

 “Yes, Master. Your grace, Robb, please,” he begged again, frantically pressing back against the Dorne, as he felt his own tension build. His body was buzzing, tendrils reaching out to his stomach and thighs. He could feel the boy shudder, and all the way inside him, he felt hot seed spill as the boy continued to thrust into him.

 “Come for your master.”

 Theon felt possessed as the pressure in his pelvis became too much, his lips parted in an o. The Dornish boy hooked his thumb inside Theon’s mouth and he obediently sucked the digit there, tasting salt and oil. His body was shaking and tingling as a long wave of pleasure crashed through him and he felt liquid spurt from the slit he now pissed through. He collapsed on the bed as his legs couldn’t hold him anymore and he laid there catching his breath.  The Dornish boy was chuckling at him as he pulled at Theon’s hair roughly. “And you said you did not want pleasure.”

 Theon caught his breath and sniffed, already feeling like crying again. He blinked rapidly trying to remember what happened, parts of it slipping away. He could feel sticky wetness sliding between his legs. He’d just paid a man to pretend to be Ramsay Bolton and fuck him until he came. Seven hells, he was sick. But he remembered his name. Theon. He felt more like Theon. The cowardly part of him had retreated for now, but the shame never went away.

 The boy was already lying on his back with a smile, plucking a grape from the table next to him while he stretched. “You are already trying to shame yourself for this, but do not.”

 “I don’t...” he started.

 “Do not say you don’t like men, it bores me. You knew the once King in the North? I heard stories of him.”

 Theon only meant he didn’t think about anyone that way anymore. He used to always chase women. He used to always chase Robb. But he betrayed the second and paid for it with the first. Theon didn’t chase anyone now; he was always the one running.

 “I did,” he said with regret. As his body cooled, he no longer wanted this boy from Dorne to see him. He rolled to his feet, but the boy pulled him back on the bed, tossing him a silk blanket. Theon gratefully covered himself and sat. “But I betrayed him and Ramsay took me prisoner. I deserved everything. And when I let my uncle take my sister, I wanted to be back there. With him.”

 Why was he telling this to this boy? Because Theon couldn’t hide anything from eyes like dirty ice. He would always spill his secrets and his blood before them. He swallowed thickly.

 “No one deserves such things,” the boy said, now serious. Theon looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Faint scars like knife cuts trailed all over his body, hard to see after the many years. His black hair clung to his forehead with sweat and Theon remembered hearing that certain tattoos marked slaves in Essos. “But slaves do not wear such fine clothes.”

 “No,” Theon agreed. “We escaped.”

 “We did. And you will not come here again seeking your master.”

 Theon gave a small nod, his stomach twisted into knots.

 “But you may come here again to seek the finest cock in Dorne,” the boy said with a wide grin and Theon quickly stood to get dressed. The boy pointed to a wash basin and Theon shyly took advantage. They said nothing else as Theon replaced his doublet without his undershirt and pulled on his boots. He would go to Dragonstone with the Ironborn and ask for help, he thought, laying silver coins for payment on the table. Right after he walked back to the sea and threw up.

 Though he would always limp, he felt he stood a little taller. Theon turned to the Dornish boy, who once had a master of his own, and said, “Thank you.”


End file.
